


'Smoke'

by AlmaMeDuele



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BEEEEEEEES, Beekeeping, Blackwatch Era, Let Gabe Have Bees, Not really an AU, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Self-Indulgent, Self-Indulgent as All Get Out Honesty, Training Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8661172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmaMeDuele/pseuds/AlmaMeDuele
Summary: Drabble for McReyes week. Platonic/brotherly captain and trainee moment. The Blackwatch commander has a peculiar but useful hobby.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Winter, Vita, and Deviri.  
> You can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/almameduele) or [Tumblr.](http://arcanebarrage.tumblr.com/)

The beehives were Reyes’ idea. Something to bring character to the southern courtyard at the Geneva Headquarters, a complementary addition to the two vegetable gardens and flowerbeds built into the first floor. The installation garners almost as much ire as it does interest. He understands the squad’s hesitation; in an organization dedicated to heroic acts of valor and sacrifice, one doesn’t show up to work expecting enthusiastic chatter about the company perks for hobbyist beekeepers. In fact, one of the new recruits heard his squad leaders talking about the hives over coffee in the break room and assumed the installation was connected to somebody’s quirky super-power. Jack found this hilarious, slapped his knee -- and now he jokes about it in the hallway after the latest combat debriefing. Chortling at the concept of a noble hero who might take to the battlefield with their trusty bees.

Reyes lets him laugh, leaves the building, heads down to check on the hives while thinking up a suitable comeback. Half-whimsically daydreaming of a perilous scenario where a swarm of sixty-thousand eusocial insects save farmboy Jack Morrison’s ass. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s imagined lately, but it’s not the most implausible thing, either.

He hums as he enters the courtyard. There they are: two glossy wooden boxes painted white with shiny copper covers. They stand resolute as statues on neat pine-brown stands. Already he can hear the low buzz of the hives. An automated bird-bath whirrs nearby, shouldered by clumps of sweet-flowering shrubs. Something to encourage bee activity and perk up the courtyard.

It’s sunny, warm, 20°C according to the sensor on his watch. Reyes takes his smoker, hat and veil off the hooks clipped to the courtyard railing. He tugs on the hat, straightens the veil, flicks the the smoker’s bellows activator to _on_. He doesn’t bother with full gear and gloves during hive checks, only when harvesting honey. They’ve got a few more months before the top honey super is full; right now, he’s more concerned about overall hive health. The Omnic Crisis was just as unkind to flora and fauna as it was to humans. New types of chemical-resistant pests emerged not long after the war ended, and -- just like the early 2000’s -- bee populations declined. The varroa mite proved resistant as the average cockroach.

He’s mulling over mites and stuffing tinder into the smoker can when he hears the drawl: _hey, boss._

Reyes looks up. McCree lingers by the walkway, hatted but dressed down. No chestplate or holsters, just grey tac-suit and kerchief. He hasn’t shaved or showered; Reyes spots a patch of gauze over his forehead. An unfiltered cigarette is pinched between his teeth, snaking out a thread of smoke. There’s that shit-eating grin.

Either he just won a string of sparring rounds down in the Blackwatch training gym, or he got in another fight.

Reyes clicks his tongue and thinks: _these two things are not mutually exclusive._

“How’re you doing, cowboy?” Reyes calls out.

“Real swell.” The gunslinger strolls over on lanky legs with lankier arms crooked at the elbows, fingers laced behind his head. Grinning still, gradually softening as he approaches. “Nice to see you still play dress-up when you can find the time.”

“Ha.” Reyes digs a hive tool out of a box beside one of the hive stands. The metal gleams silver on one end, red powder-coat on the other. Even with advanced robotics and nanobiology, the little lever in his hand is the best solution for cracking open the lid on a hive. “You’re supposed to be in studying for advanced Omnic combat tactics. They’re doing wave theory and high-volume attack sessions this week. Hope you finished all your work early.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Maybe I thought I’d come see how the ladies are doin’ this afternoon.”

Reyes looks up at McCree. “You’re actually going to stick around this time? No chickening out?”

“Yup.” McCree pulls off his cigarette. “Reckon I’ll come within five feet this time instead of ten.”

“Put out that smoke and you can come right up to the hive, Jesse. They’re not gonna sting you.”

McCree taps ash off his cigarette. “You said that last time.”

Reyes takes the copper cover off the first hive, sets it aside, squints at the gunslinger as he dawdles by the bushes. “And what happened last time?”

“Got a bee in my ear.”

“And did she sting you?”

McCree tosses his cigarette to the grass with a flick of his thumb and forefinger. As he’s grinding it out: “she coulda, if she went lookin’ for earwax.”

“Don’t leave that butt in the grass,” Reyes chides, frowning. He pats the top of the hive with a bare hand. “Bees don’t go for that kind of wax. Anyway, after a while, you get used to having them around your face.”

Wrinkling his nose, McCree bends over to retrieve and pocket the crushed cigarette. He points at his face. “Says the guy wearin’ face protection.”

“I hardly even need it. No protocol for gear or faceplates here, McCree. The bees know me.”

McCree cackles a low _ha-ha._ “Gabriel Reyes,” he purrs theatrically, “ _known_ to the bees.”

“Being completely serious, cowboy. I don’t have any other PPE on, do I? Gloves? Suit?”

“Against all of my own personal suggested safety measures, I have to say: nope, you don’t.”

“Look, cowboy” -- Reyes wedges the tool beneath the lid, gradually working open the propolis seal -- “if you wanna get to know bees, you gotta get used to them being around you. _On_ you. It’s a mutual understanding. She was sniffing you out, making sure you weren’t an intruder or a threat.”

“I dunno, boss, I think I’m pretty dangerous.”

Reyes ignores the sly comment. “Worker bees are curious. They go for crevices. So long as you don’t swat at them when they’re nosing around, you won’t scare them. It’s part of the job.”

“I’ll still stay over here.”

“Suit yourself.” _Crack._ Reyes pops off the top super. This box is less populated than the hive deeps below it; some of the frames lack fully drawn comb. He smiles at the first glimpse of fuzzy brown honeybees busily dancing in and out between the frames. Thinking cheerfully: _hey, gals._

Then the _smell_ hits him: clean wax, honey, a floral aroma. The best part about opening up a beehive.

Even Jesse is lured a little closer by the rich, heady scent.

“Thought you were gonna be over there,” Reyes muses, checking each frame, eyeing the waxy white comb. Lifting the smoker, checking the synthwood chips smoldering inside the can, giving it a few test puffs.

“The smoke is what chills ‘em out, right?” Jesse murmurs, edging near, cupping his hand around one elbow and pointing at the open hive with the other. “Makes it so they don’t wanna sting you?”

“Yeah. Don’t really know why. Big theory is that it disguises worker alarm pheromones, keeps them from calling out to the other girls and warning them about intruders.”

Jesse’s eyebrows rise. “In the year 2060, we know what cures cancer and synthesizes petroleum, but we don’t know why bees take a smoke break?”

“Nope.” Reyes carefully levers the top super off the hive and sets it in the grass. The low hum gibbers to a raw, middling whine; a multitude of worker bees scatter across the top of the deep frames. Here the wax and propolis is a lovely brown, rich like patina over the sticky wood and comb. Jesse takes a step back as Reyes brushes a clump of bees off the edge of the first frame and jars it loose.

He holds up the frame to the sunlight. Golden-brown honeycomb glints before him; the workers bustle across the wood, trek over his fingers, disappear around the frame’s waxy edge. Two bees cling to his veil as he inspects the frame for signs of ruin or rot.

Then he sees the telltale wiggle of a tiny blue dot.

“Your majesty,” he murmurs softly, lowering the frame. Reyes looks up to find McCree hovering nearby, rapt with interest, peering down into the teeming hive. “Found the queen. Wanna see?”

“Oh. Sure.”

The insect in question waddles serenely across the frame with a blue chalky spot adorning her oversized abdomen. Reyes has to point her out twice; she disappears beneath her attendants and emerges like a pale petal.

“She’s got a big ol’ rear-end,” McCree offers.

“Hey.” Reyes scoffs. “Watch your manners, she’s royalty.”

“Oh, ‘scuse me.” McCree deferentially tips his hat to the bee. “Ma’am.”

“You know, you’re technically supposed to bow to royalty, right?”

The gunslinger sweeps his arm and bends his knee. “All apologies, your highness.”

“Good.” Jokingly, Reyes offers out the frame with a grin: “okay, now, to the queen.”

 _Thop._ McCree lightly thumps Reyes’ upper arm with thumb and forefinger. Warmly acknowledging the old Blackwatch idiom: _Reyes_ means _‘kings._ ’ “Real funny, Gabe.”

A few more puffs of smoke gets them through inspection on the rest of the frames. No varroa, no signs of beetles or wax moths. Despite his relief, Reyes takes a sting to the upper wrist; he pulls the stinger out with a pinch. McCree takes a few steps back and watches with eyes wide.

“It’s part of the job,” Reyes repeats calmly, wiping the spot with his thumb. “Sometimes, you’re gonna get stung. They can’t help it, they’re just doing their job, too.”

“They die after stingin’ you, don’t they?”

“Yeah. A sting’s a full sacrifice for the hive. Leads to more of them getting irritated and moving to sting, too, though. That’s when you know it’s time to put things back up and get out, let them calm down.”

“Hurts like hell.” McCree scratches the back of his neck. “Got stung a buncha times when I was a kid. Swells up real bad too, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t be able to pull a trigger with a fat finger.”

“After enough stings, you get used to it.” Reyes puts the top super back on, mindful not to squash any errant bees. “Don’t even notice the swelling anymore. If you get one and it bugs you, Angela can give you something in medbay.”

Jesse snorts. “Nice pun, boss.”

Reyes looks up from the swelling spot on his wrist. “Huh?”

“‘Bugs.’”

 _Clack._ Reyes seals the lid. He puts the copper cover back on. “So, what all did you learn?”

McCree blinks. “‘Bout what?”

“About bees.” Reyes wipes his palms. “Everything I told you just now.”

The gunslinger hooks his thumbs on his beltloops. He wasn’t expecting an impromptu lesson review. “Well, you checked for beetles and mites. The queen’s marked with a dot, she lays eggs and all the other bees take care of her. Then, you --”

Reyes interrupts. “You saw how I took the hive apart, right?”

“Yeah. Real careful.”

“Exactly.” Reyes puts away his tools, douses the smoker, takes off his hat and veil. “Small movements with the tool, not making lots of vibration or sound. Got a good look at the queen, didn’t upset her keepers. Took care to move bees out of the way” -- he gestures a brushing hand motion -- “while handling equipment. If you squash or swat a bee, she gives off a warning with pheromones. More alarmed bees, less time to check out the hive and make sure it’s safe.”

“Huh. Takes a little artistry, then. Maybe a lil’ inner focus, findin’ that right balance of efficient, quick, and careful.”

“Just like that.”

McCree trails after him towards the walkway, drawling. "Did you keep 'em when you lived in LA?"

"Nope." Reyes rubs the sting; it hurts a little more than usual. He's not sure why. "Air quality was too bad back then."

"Picked it up along the way, huh?"

Reyes clears his throat. "You can learn a lot from watching others."

“Boss, if I didn’t already know you well ‘nough, I’d guess this was all some sorta metaphor for training.”

Reyes feels another bloom of fondness through the lingering dull pain from the sting. McCree catches on quick; the pop quiz was worth it. His protégé, while admittedly chicken about the beehive, is on target with his training. Still proving himself. _Smart as a barb._

“Take that with you to combat tactics,” he says over his shoulder, catching McCree’s wink, returning a grin. “And don’t forget the smoke.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- Sorry I didn't post this on the actual _day_ for 'Smoke,' but I fell asleep. :(  
>  \- Reference: [parts of a beehive.](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8bRPZPGaTUQ/VStOYiBsO1I/AAAAAAAAUtg/iROU2cgJAfA/s1600/hive_diagram.jpg) A [smoker and a ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bee_smoker)[hive tool.](http://www.brushymountainbeefarm.com/Brushy-Mtn10-Hive-Tool/productinfo/495/)  
> \- I'm not really up to date with beekeeping traditions in Switzerland but I'm sure they keep pretty well over there.


End file.
